


Strength is in the eye of the beholder

by ShadowSelene (Shadowdianne)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 15:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17852621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowdianne/pseuds/ShadowSelene
Summary: "I used to be strong." "You still are strong, you carry me everyday." Asked by emettkaysworld via tumblr





	Strength is in the eye of the beholder

The glint of the shears against her palm was, rather than comforting, something that made Emma’s skin crawl and as she stared at them she felt almost tempted to drop them into the dock’s wooden floor, kick them and leave as fast as she was able to. She, however, knew that things weren’t so simple and so she kept holding them, the metal cold to the touch no matter how long she had already been clasping her right hand around them, trying to decide.

Wasn’t this what she wanted? The tranquil waters of the sea a few feet from her sloshed and whispered the same question back at her and she nibbled her bottom lip at the thought of finally freeing herself from a title that had made her feel as simply a character, a trope, into someone else’s story. It didn’t matter how long had it been since she had sat in the middle of Neverland, empty map on her lap and the savior word falling from her lips in a half-hearted attempt of admitting something she wasn’t ready to speak up yet. She still felt that the adjective, the epithet, wasn’t one she wanted.

Truly, she felt tired; tired of the constant running and fear that seemed to always be ready to crawl up her chest, fill her lungs and heart with dark secrets and even darker magic. Adjusting her grip so her thumb was pressing the outside of the top blade of the shears, she watched as the pad of her thumb kept on running against the edge, never once drawing blood.

“I used to be strong.”

The words left her mouth before she truly registered them, the whisper getting caught and scattered away by the wind that kept on blowing through the docks, bringing with it a salty taste and scent that, as much as her title, didn’t matter how long she stayed in Storybrooke; always assaulted her whenever she least expected it. Growling at her own admission, Emma watched as fiddling sparks cracked out of her skin, dirty white and gold surrounding the shears for a moment before disappearing completely, upon touching the golden surface. The way her magic reacted only fueled her doubts, but she still pressed her lips together until they formed a fine line; not wanting for any other thought to escape her, not even alone as she was. It wasn’t, she reasoned with bitterness, like she truly had the luxury of thinking like that. Not anymore.

A dark whisper filled her thoughts at that admission, the voice colder than hers but still so intrinsically attuned to her that she shuddered; not surprised but startled. It had been months since she had last heard it after all.

_“You still are strong, you carry me every day.”_

Despite the encouragement those words seemed to want to bring the fact that if she closed her eyes her other persona, the one that had consumed her, be her, for a short period of time stared back at her with a curved smirk and eyes far too dark and consumed by magic to be entirely good, she didn’t feel all that encouraged. Not when the Dark One that she still seemed to have kept from her time as one, eyed her with a similar tiredness than the one she felt on her bones, consuming her from inside out.

And it didn’t matter if she was hallucinating this, if her time as the dark one had left an imprint on her or this was simply a way for her mind to tell her to keep going; everything around her felt like out of focus, far too bright and yet too far away from her to truly appreciate it; not with the shears weighing her down, keeping her frozen as she kept staring at them, at the silhouette of her white-haired self.

“I’m not strong.” She finally replied, and she almost wanted to laugh at the stupidity of it all, but she truly didn’t feel like laughing at the moment. “I’m scared.”

She would have given everything to be able to cut herself from the title and expectations that had fallen on her lap because of prophecies and magic she hadn’t even grown up with. And yet the idea of leaving the title behind, the possibility of it, made her nauseous. She had spent the last few years being solely the savior after all; what would be left of her if she took that thread out of her story? Would there even be a story to return to?

Biting her tongue, she thought on Camelot; the first time in a long time in where the Savior title had felt different and bittersweet as she had felt her own sanity slip away, bit by bit. She thought on how the sheer power of darkness had consumed her; all too easy in a way, in a thread that had felt far too easy to fall into even if it had hurt in a way she would never be ready to talk about. As no one would truly listen.

With one single exception that made her heartbeat increase. The single exception that had eyed her with no worry or pity but total and utter dismay; with the fear of having failed her when she had sauntered into the dinner; cold and expressionless. She wondered, not for the first time, what would Regina think if she decided to use the shears. Especially after she herself had seen her use the serum that had splitted her in two; the way the fire that she had always linked to the brunette forever changed now that she looked at her, trying to find it while feeling guilty. Guilty of not having said out loud what she had truly wanted to say.

_Don’t do it._

But that thought was selfish, wasn’t it? Born out of the way she looked up at Regina, completely mesmerized. Born out of fear of seeing her change. And she had. In minuscule ways, too little to truly be noticeable but still present; her edges duller, her heat colder, her magic lighter.

She wondered how much she would change as well; how much she had already changed because precisely that same title she now felt squeamish about erasing it.

_“Then, what are you?”_

Emma hummed at the question, one she wasn’t entirely sure if it had fallen from her lips, her mind had whispered it to her or the sea had finally decided to join the conversation. Shrugging, she clasped the shears even more tightly on her fist before putting them back into the jacket’s pocket, standing and glancing at the dark waters before her.

She didn’t want to change; not now; not when everything felt about to break in a million pieces. She didn’t feel prepared for that. She needed herself, she needed Henry.

She needed Regina; both sides of her.

The fact that she didn’t think about Hook one that she didn’t stopped herself to consider, not tonight.

“The savior, apparently.”


End file.
